Revolving Door
by Aposphobia
Summary: Bulma crafts a new invention exclusively for her ever-cranky husband, which is not just a wedding ring, and neither is innocuous... as it might appear at first sight. An incongruence splits them up in an alternate timeline... and suddenly... It's kill or get killed.
1. Chapter 1

**Pied Piper of Hamelin**

Light cracked at the horizon like the angered bite of a stray, famishly chewing gold-flushed clouds as it slowly ascended in the sky. A familiar sight, no matter from where one'd watch it. Like dawn. Like surge of power. Like watching, cyclically and agonizingly, the magnificent yet horrendous destruction of planets and stars. The brightness was the same, glaring, blinding _and blistering. _Something he'd seen many times, something he'd desired and yearned twice as much. Something that he'd never imagined would feel so _out of place _if observed from the perspective of the wronged.

He was a fugitive, an outlaw, a homeless. Prince of debris. Prince of arrogance. Prince of countless mistakes.

Yet, one thing still stood in between he and capitulation. A promise. An oath. The only speck of redemption he could still cling to. He still owed that to himself, to the lingering ghost of a planet surviving just in his memories.

He wouldn't bend. He wouldn't submit. He'd never forfeit the pride of being a Saiyan.

_Never!_

A fluid motion, deft and spartan all the same, pushed the sinewy leg through an agglomeration of silicacious, solid rock, crushing it angrily under the pressure of well compacted strength.

Energy flared as his arms bent against hips, and releasing such a copious, desperate amount of it, felt _still _as satisfying, if not more, as reaching an orgasm. The pleasurable nothingness embracing every distracting thought, annihilating it, making him feel reborn every single time. Making him feel part of a big picture, making him feel as if he was the big picture itself. Just in that moment, when _nothing _came to mean _everything _, when every bit of dust _disintegrated _under his will; in that moment the schooled curve of his mouth twisted upwards, ribald, ecstatic.

_That was what he lived for._

The remote asteroid where he dwelled shattered in the firmament like a new dawn.

_He's back._

_Such a noncommittal thought_, her mind suggested. She lingered on that notion, while her crimson full lips tightened around a half-spent cigarette. It had been a while since she'd last seen his face. It'd been a while, since she'd last heard his voice.

She'd came to appreciate that instant, the subtle thrill running down her spine while she tried to lie to herself. Her lips twitched in mischief, aware of the _enamoured _state of her body.

Of how her shoulders would shrink ever so slightly.

Of how familiar and welcomed heat would entrap her chest, weaving its way to the belly, pooling there comfortably like a first sip of alcohol.

Of how, even though the ridiculousness of it all, the single definition of _affection - with him - _had branched into many, countless minor paths. And with it, the ideal woman she'd seen until that moment in the mirror had started to wither away; blooming again into someone much more complex. She liked it even more than before. She _fell _for that self, the Bulma that was in love in turn with _him_.

There was a specific moment she'd learned to savour in the time they'd spent together. Thus, knowing it'd happen, _because it always did, her fingers _resumed the fast typing on her laptop, just a finger slipped away to the base of the machine tipping at the corner to shift the screen just a bit toward the glass door behind her.

_Caught you._

She smiled fondly at herself.

It was like a ritual, a sort of intimate game she was sure he was aware about but refused to acknowledge.

Vegeta was there, unfailing. His focused gaze adamant, profound and black as spilled ink on her. _On the screen, knowing well enough she was staring back._

He never stood for too long, an handful of seconds at must, but enough time to steal her breath away.

Albeit aloof and apparently sedate, she could read raw longing to reach out roiling his unresting eyes every single time.

She relished in that feeling, _childish perhaps, _that whatever Vegeta was thinking they were doing was to be clandestine; kept away from prying eyes, secluded in a world where for a moment, he could let his guard down. Not that there was any need for _roleplay _in their relationship— but she couldn't keep from wanting to feed her fantasies.

For a long moment she waited for the magic to dispel. Just, it didn't.

The desktop switched to standby mode, emphasising the image behind her. _Interesting _, Bulma considered, twining her fingers under the chin; her eyes trained - intrigued and amused - on the sight of Vegeta entering the room and leisurely leaning against the wall.

She took in, delighted, at how his eyes briefly assessed the lab; trying to detect any other form of life that wasn't his spouse and at last returning to the laptop. It was a sight to behold, every time Vegeta's tensed form finally relaxed. The firm muscles, the sharp jaw, the taut line of the neck and finally those razor-sharp eyes, ever menacing, thawing a bit inside: litting dim embers of copper warmness.

"How'd it go?" her query was casual, as casual were her motions while she put out the cigarette in a nearby astray and fetched a wad of wires and a small motherboard from a box; something whirred and clicked in the background as Bulma pushed her tinted goggles on the bridge of the nose.

Vegeta observed her for a handful of seconds, his expression unreadable and still focused on the screen ahead, then he grunted what to Bulma ears sounded as a positive response. He didn't move from his current location. His wife giggled.

"What's so amusing?'' He snapped, frowning and recovering his prior tension as fast as would a scratch heal on his skin.

"_You _are amusing.'' She cooed, starting to weld two pieces of contraption together. "Why for once don't _you _come over here and give a big smooch to your beautiful wife?''

Ah, that was what she liked the most.

He didn't really need to reiterate for his ruffled, flustered and affronted countenance spoke for him. She could easily read the sentence '_ you shameless woman' _mirrored in his onyx eyes, thus with a titter she held out a hand above her head.

"Can you pass me one of the red containers on your right? Third drawer, 32st shelf. It's labeled 'transistors'.''

The change of subject seemed to relax the prince enough to turn his head ceilingward, detect in a matter of seconds the selected drawer and decide that such a task didn't suit his stature.

"Ask one of your underlings.'' Came his terse response.

"I'm asking _you because as you surely noticed, we're alone in this room _.'' Bulma stressed, careful to underline that he was starting to thread on a very thin layer of patience.

A snort followed the pleasant blow-like sound of levitation and Bulma smiled at herself, she rose from her seat, walking past the swivel chair and a pile of boxes until she stopped right under her landing consort. She waited for him to touch the ground, box in hand, to gently wrap her arms around his armoured waist and seek the crook of Vegeta's neck.

He stiffened but didn't let go of the container.

"You tricked me." It wasn't hard to surmise, and he was the fool who fell for it.

"Welcome back home." She whispered in his collar.

"_You are a deceitful bi- _" He pressed on, biting back the insult because he knew, it'd just would entertain Bulma to no end. Truth was, that his keen and sharp senses purposely failed him _just _at times like these. That warmness, her warmness, was something he loathed and longed for at the same time— a dualism that had come to him just recently. Something he felt strangely comfortable with in the intimacy of their solitude.

However…

"Your box.'' He pressed the red container against her chest so to nonchalantly remove Bulma from his personal space. Bulma pouted at him and shook her head all the while a tiny smile pulled at her lips in fond resignation.

"Actually, that's yours." She pointed out, matter-of-factly, pacing back to her seat.

Vegeta stared at the box.

"What am I supposed to do with transistors?"

"Why don't you just open the box and figure out yourself?" Bulma crossed her legs, twirling slowly on her chair, like a mob boss, to face her husband. She wore a mischievous smirk.

Vegeta was tempted to just blow up the container and morph that confident, pretty face into something angrier. Fired up and bitchy Bulma was an awkward turn on. One he didn't feel enough comfortable enabling so brazenly outside the bedroom... yet.

Thus, once again he reverted to his obedient self, letting her have it this time.

Inside the box was a tiny, circular object lying carefully lodged into a sort of cushion.

"I remember telling you that this sort of device doesn't quite well fit my girt. I'll eventually break this one too and you'll get pregnant ag-"

"Hold up your horses, mister." Bulma shot up her hand before he could finish his sentence. "That's not kinky stuff. It's a ring." She explained, puffing out her chest.

"We talked about this as well. About stupid earth traditions."

"Boo-Boop!" Bulma shook her finger in front of her face, her smirk growing wider. "Wrong again. That's a combat device."

The prince pinned his woman under a curious stare, pitch black irises trained on her. A sight that for a moment gave her goosebumps, good goosebumps. It was unfair that she got to receive that kind of lusty attention just when her amiable warlord had his mind totally unfocused on her body. But she knew the ropes and wouldn't mind casually manipulating their way toward the bedroom while still owning his full interest.

Actually, she might just do it.

"I call this… Teleportable. You seeee..." She dropped the bomb coolly, eyeing Vegeta sideways. She needn't add anything else, he was just right on her heels the moment she started to head to the door.


	2. Chapter 2

Whatever Vegeta was doing with his tongue sparked quick and itchy jolts of pleasure to her core. She couldn't see anything, just feel. Feel the pleasurable coolness of the sheets against her hot knees, forearms and face. Feel the not so gentle brush of wetness coming and going along Vegeta's ragged breaths. Feel the insulted arching of his mouth every time her choked warnings forbad a vagrant finger to just dip inside the wrong entrance.

She gave a raspy yelp and he pushed her butt higher, until a grunt of mild approval from the back row informed that his majesty was enough satisfied with the arrangement. Vegeta's mouth was all over her clith again, his head slightly tilted just at the right angle, where he knew she liked it. Where he was certain would elicit high pitched moans and if he was lucky enough even his name chanted like a plea.

But Bulma, he learned, was as difficult to handle in bed as she was in their everyday life. Not that Ihe disliked such a picky side. Instead, he found it challenging. As feeble a human she was, it was surprising how long she could endure sex with a saiyan.

Vegeta, Bulma discovered with time, was one to indulge in foreplay, specially when it came to taste his woman between her tights. He never spoke a word during their lovemaking, heck, she never heard her name slip once. It didn't matter thought. What Vegeta didn't tell, she perfectly understood through motions. He asked without asking: by touching, exploring, listening.

Bulma enjoyed the guttural sounds he made when she added some extra cries to reward him. How at some point, after that, he said to Hell with tests and just spun her around, kissing and lapping and searching frantically for every bit of her body until they were upside down on the mattress and the only thing that mattered was plunging and thrusting and sweating just loving the fuck out each other without pretense.

He was under Bulma and partially tangled among limbs and sheets when she suddenly started blowing muted raspberries against his pecs.

"Whoops, it seems like we went kinda out of topic." Her satisfied, sleepy whisper ended with a stretch of upper limbs, arms that found their way around Vegeta's neck- and from which he promptly and easily fled rolling over onto his side of the bed.

She tried to hold on his neck, resulting in miserable defeat when the stubborn saiyan flatly smacked her hands away. "Ouch! Cheapskate." Bulma pretended to blow on her unblemished skin. "How dare you?! Cuddling up with this sexy bomb once in a while won't jeopardize your bloody reputation all over the galaxies, you know?"

"Shutting up once in a while won't jeopardize your bloody reputation all over the neighborhood, you know?"

Uh-uh, mr. Super Saiyan was throwing metaphorical ki blasts at her. Should she tease him? Knowing Vegeta, he'd probably just get all hot and bothered and leave her without body warmth for the night. Maybe she'd just get over with and resume their pre-sex topic.

"So!" Bulma got up from the bed, her naked form slalomed through the labyrinth of discarded clothes; finding the infamous box labeled 'transistors' peeping from under Vegeta's spandex.

"Nobody taught you how to handle fragile things with delicacy?" She demanded, picking up the box and checking its contents, grimacing as if it smelled foul.

"Either you're forgetting my upbringing, or any knowledge in that regard left my brain once I got to know you." Vegeta kept lying still, with his back still facing the woman.

One.

Two.

Three seconds.

"Excuse you?! I'll have you know that I am a fragile and delicate girl! A beautiful young woman standing stark naked just behind you!"

The empty container flew right at him, which he caught without much effort merely raising a hand.

That was it. The angry bitch mode worked as expected. Vegeta turned over to finally give her audience, masterfully hiding the ghost of a satisfied smirk behind his hard countenance.

Acquiescing her request, his piercing gaze analyzed every patch of her white, immaculate body as if he could touch that hourglass-shaped perfection with the mere aid of a glance.

Bulma fell silent, feeling scrutinized and laid more bare than she already was. She'd lie if said she didn't enjoy the sensation. But letting him know would just be like admitting defeat.

"This," she broke the spell, indicating the little ring in her hand. Her voice still irked. "Allows you to move at incredible speed, just like Son. It pretty much works like the hoi-poi capsule, when you press this tiny side button here, your atoms will start shaking up a bit. While you demolecularize, micro-impulses will send informations to your frontal cortex… let's say, They'll send new coordinates, tricking your brain into believing that you're in point B instead of point A. At that point you'll have just to remember to keep your ki between 50000 and 80000 bp and poof. Instant transmission! Obviously, this is just a beta version, once you'll try-"

"I don't need that shit." Point blank, Vegeta rose to his feet throwing away the sheets with a dramatic flair.

How many times had Bulma felt the urge to just take that man's head and smash it against a wall? Uncountable. Even if Vegeta were just a random earthling, it'd probably be just another fruitless damage of property, since she was sure as Hell, alien or not, his head would be as hard in either case. If Vegeta believed he'd been the only one training in all their years of lunatic relationship well, he was wrong. While he learned not to blow up training chambers, she self-tutored on how not to blow a fuse at his childish tantrums. The secret was to firmly believe that she was just dealing with a self-conceited, humorless and overgrown street urchin.

And like a street urchin he was begone a moment later, leaving behind just the chilly wintry wind slapping at her sore, angered face, and an open window.

He didn't collect his armour. The thought dawned on the prince when he was already miles away from home. Not that he was in immediate need of chest defense, anyway.

Wherever his need to cool down had driven him, it smelled of cow shit and fermented wheat. Not exactly the ideal place to tear down.

Instant transmission?

What was coming next? Hi-tech crutches? He didn't fucking need Kakarot's leftovers to grow stronger. And that amongst all, Bulma thought he'd be glad about such a feat, angered him tenfold.

Accepting the other saiyan as temporarily stronger didn't mean he felt like wanting to emulate the motherfucker.

"Shit!" Fuck it, he didn't give a crap if he'd end up leveling a whole area in the process; the need to vent out his frustration was stronger than his sense of civic responsibility. Closing his eyes, he felt energy slowly pent up toward the palm of his hand, he'd just blow some steam on random crops. The moon was dim as candlelight, ensconced behind clouds fraught with rain. It feebly lit a plot of land littered by holes and piles of dirt, which looked straight out from a planet purge. He aimed right at that and when he was just about to let out the first shot…

"Wait, wait, wait! Vegeta waiiiiit!"

Kakarot's waving hands appeared in his field of vision like a nightmare, on the right, his stupid face a blur that fortunately he couldn't see. Instead of stopping, his arm merely moved few inches, aiming at the new target.

Fast and accurate, the ki blast designed a perfect straight line from his position. His impromptu opponent jumped just in time, he swung up in the air, opening legs and watching how the vibrant immaculate ball of energy plowed the barren ground of Mt. Paozu.

"Wohhh! Y'must be a natural Vegeta! Look at that- besides the levelled trees that technique is amazing. I never thought about that. It could save me half of the day… mhhh… but if I do that Chichi will be mad because we spent lotta money on the tractor…Oh! I got it!" The walking merry-go-round that was Goku flew over by Vegeta, landing right in front of him with one of his customary big grins painted on the lips. "Why don't you help me out sometimes?"

The younger saiyan hadn't even finished the sentence before Vegeta had already turned on his heels, flat out ignoring him.

"Ok, ok! Nevermind, don't get mad! I'll do this on my own but… what are you doing here Vegeta?"

The new question stopped the prince right in his track. Right. What the fuck was he doing there of all the damn places?

"Not your business. I'm leaving."

"Hey wanna spar? I had to start coming out at night because I have to work during the day. Please don't tell Chichi or she'll scold me again! Please? Pretty please!?"

'Go to Hell' his brain processed. "Get ready to eat the dust" he said instead, turning just above his shoulder to give his eternal arch nemesis a once-over.

They didn't waste a second.

"My first guess is that you met your favorite playmate along the way. That or… you inadvertently fell from the stairs?" Bulma's sarcasm held an acidic hue, much like the scent of lemon wafting from the steamy cup she held like dear life. She looked peacefully rested, her visage a mask of at least three hours spent on her morning beauty routine.

She leaned her hip against the gigantic table of the restaurant-area, her body clad in a plushy, fluffy robe.

Vegeta growled something, ignoring the fact he was spilling blood everywhere and just walked off like primadonna toward the kitchens.

"Stop right there big boy. You won't find any delicacy where you're going. I felt like giving a day off to everyone today." Her sentence hide a finality that made the prince spun on his feet, his teeth visibly gritted.

"What?!"

Bulma blinked at the chorus, finding Trunks - which probably had just woke up - trying to wipe away the sleep from his eyes and look alarmed at the same time.

"Trunks, you'll find your breakfast in the west wing. Daddy is grounded and we're going to fight now. So why don't you eat and train in the Gravity Chamber later?"

"Can I?!" He asked tentatively, sneaking a look at his father, whose temper was slowly reaching the zenith by the second. "Without papa?"

"No, you obviously ca-"

"Sure baby, go."

Trunks didn't linger a minute more once his parents looked at each other. When their eyes locked like that either meant war or something they always got uncomfortable explaining to him.

"The hell is wrong with you, **woman**?"

"Oh, you switched back to gender-naming, huh? Are you angry because I showed Trunks that his momma has got balls and his father has got none? Because I'm informing you that the only one that should be furious in here it's me… and NO"

she walked over him like an amazon ready to take the scalp of her enemy, pointing a finger on his chest and pushing as if she could force him backward an inch

"don't even try to walk out on this one because that's exactly the reason why I am here, boy! Just because you think the whole world owes you something because you can shot some fireballs and light up your hair well- you're stupidly wrong! I ain't your sugar momma, okay? You believe we don't need to get married in the earth way because it's stupid to you? Ok! I can get past that because it sounds stupid to me as well. You wanna go destroy your goddamn body just for the sake of it? Be my guest! Wanna train our son to turn him into another war machine? I allowed it. You train all the day and give me ONE FUCKING PERCENT of your time? Good, I have a life too. But don't dare again, NEVER DARE again call my inventions SHIT and fly out the window like a drama queen or I swear Frieza, Cell, Majin Buu and whoever has nothing better to do than try to destroy this godforsaken planet will be a dream compared to the Hell I'm gonna give you. And now I'm the one who's gonna walk out on you! Fuck off!"

All that Vegeta had managed to do in that short span of time was stare. His mouth closed up in a tight line, the venom in his eyes slowly dissipating, replaced by a mix of bewilderment, outrage and something between lust and uneasiness. Blood still trickled down his arms, pit-patting on the floor like the rain outside.

His gaze left the corner where Bulma had just disappeared just to move onto the table, atop that, near the mug filled with sour-something that Bulma had abandoned, lied the glinting object he refused the night before.

He took it and left.


End file.
